


"Miracle"

by Yeetlejuice



Category: One Hundred Percent Orange Juice
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Loneliness, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetlejuice/pseuds/Yeetlejuice
Summary: Tomomo... Where did those happy days go?Tomomo... Sadness draws near reality.Tomomo... Something was smashed up in the darkness. Was it miraculous magic?A fic based on the lyrics of the Acceleration of Suguri 2 song "Magical Girl of Miracles" (can be read at [https://releska.com/2018/06/13/the-miraculous-magical-girl/]), with one scene inspired by a single page in the Megami Ibunroku Persona manga.
Kudos: 7





	"Miracle"

She enters her apartment. It's been a long day at her job in the convenience store. For some reason, it feels as if every day is like that. Yet, the greatest part of a long day is the respite one gets at the end of it.

The door stays open for a few moments, and she stands there, seemingly waiting, as if hoping for someone, whether it be a person or a creature, to come up to the door and meet her. But the only person who greets her and welcomes her home is nobody. Ever since she became an adult, it feels as if every day has been like that.

Sighing, she walks through her home, her first destination being the kitchen. She sets down the bags she brought in, and monotonously transfers their contents to the pantry and fridge. It bores her to no end, yet it's one of the many necessary things she needs to do. With the life she has now, it feels as if every day has been like this. Full of monotonous, draining activities. 

After the rest of her duties are done, she changes into something more comfortable, and after donning some loungewear, she grabs a popsicle from the bountiful reserves she keeps inside her freezer. The flavor is red bean. It's nothing special to most, but for her, it's a simple luxury she holds dear to her heart. Eating a popsicle like this every day is practically a tradition of hers at this point. No wonder she ascended from eating so many.

She plops herself down on the couch, before picking up the remote for her TV and changing between channels. It takes a few moments for dimensions to adjust, but after some time she tunes in to the one she's looking for; a channel detailing a board game being played by 4 players. They fight, spend resources, use cards, roll dice, strategize, and ultimately have a fun time. There's many ways for her to observe the domain she created with her power, including dreams or various electronic devices, but the TV is the most convenient. Some days she even participates in the game she made. Today is not one of those days, however. No matter if she's playing or spectating, she still manages to enjoy herself. 

It's a fun little escape from her otherwise lonely life. Sure, having nobody around ensures peace and quiet. But perfect solitude and isolation is just as overbearing as any racket. 

But she can't be too lazy. She shuts down the TV, hoisting herself up from the couch and wandering over to the kitchen, thinking. Deciding which meal has the best enjoyability-to-effort ratio is always important to her. She prefers meals where the former is higher than the latter. 

After cooking, she looks at the amount she's prepared. It's a bit too much; it's always a bit too much. The person who taught her how to cook had ingrained the concept of cooking enough to feed more than one into her head. It's always good to have enough, just in case someone else comes along and you need to share. But the only person who comes along and the only person she could possibly share with are one in the same. It's nobody. Ever since she's had to live on her own, it feels as if it's always been like that. 

She chooses to eat outside, like every other day. The balcony of her apartment is a nice place to relax, and it gives a pleasant view of the city as well. Most enjoy a drink alongside their meals, and she is no different. In this instance, hers is canned, and alcoholic. She doesn't drink this kind of beverage often. It's too costly for the paycheck she gets at her current job. Usually, she curses her low wages, but it's in this specific instance that she's glad about it. If she was able to pay for more, it certainly wouldn't turn out healthy. At the very least, though, her wages are enough for her to afford basic needs, alongside her favorite dessert. But that doesn't mean she doesn't wish they were higher. 

She always manages to time her dinner around sunset, and it ends upon the arrival of dusk. As the sky darkens with the coming of night, she goes back inside, washing her dishes before entering the living room once more. 

During this time, she devotes an hour to whatever she feels like doing that day. Sometimes, it's playing a game on her phone. Sometimes, it's idling away on social media or the internet. Sometimes, it's just lying down on the couch and staring at the ceiling in a lethargic manner. Sometimes, it's watering that one plant in the corner of the living room. It's low-maintenance, but she's still successfully taking care of a living thing on her own. It makes her feel a little more confident in herself. Sometimes, it's half-heartedly reading a book she picked up who-knows-where before dropping it and doing something else ten minutes in. She feels like it's good to read every now and then, but books are always too quiet for her. If there was any other company she had that wasn't so quiet, then maybe she would be able to appreciate books. But, sadly, the only company she has is nobody. 

The time after that hour is a blur, as she apathetically prepares to go to sleep. Her routine is a consistent rhythm of brushing her teeth, washing herself in the shower, changing into pajamas, and then going to bed. It's the most uninteresting part of the day. But, as much as she wishes she could spend more time awake at night, her shift at the convenience store always starts early. Always. Early rise and early shine, as they say. 

Sometimes, she wishes at least one element of her personal life wasn't lonely. She wouldn't even mind if said element was sleeping. But that thought is quickly swept away, as she falls into slumber, dreaming sweet dreams one can only dream of knowing.

\-----

_Are the dreams quite so sweet, though?_

\-----

It feels as if she dreams every night, at this point. Sometimes, she watches over her domain in her dreams. Sometimes, they're just simple dreams or nightmares. For a long while, though, she has dreamt the same dream multiple times. It is a dream that she can never decide between calling a dream or a nightmare, for it is not entirely happy, yet not intimidating or jarring at all. If anything, it is only saddening.

She dreams of a room. A bedroom, mostly empty, save for a bed and windows beyond which an endless expanse of light lies. It's a room with both her and herself in it. Two of her, but one is not an imposter, and they are no less equal than each other. One of her is standing, tall and proud, with a staff resembling a popsicle in hand. She's dressed in an elegant, elaborate dress, with a red ribbon adorned with a heart-shaped emblem near the bottom of the collar. Her hair is a light magenta, her eyes are a bright hazel that's approaching yellow, and floating behind her back are two miraculously magnificent golden wings, made of pure light. Her usually average footwear is replaced with boots, made of a rather high-end fabric.

She looks stunning, in a sense. Perhaps even powerful. Menacingly, miraculously, magically powerful. But it's a look that she knows will only stay as a folly, despite how much she may try. It's only in places she has control over that she can wear this outfit. But only a single realm fits that bill, and it isn't the one her real life takes place in.

Meanwhile, the other her is sitting down on the bed, though the way she shifts indicates she was recently laying down. Her posture is lazy, lethargic, yawning before rubbing her eyes and looking at the other her. She's dressed in a much simpler outfit, loungewear easily recognizable as the one she usually wears every day. Nothing else is quite different. Her hair is its ordinary shade of brown, her eyes being the usual grey.

Her casual clothing almost pales in comparison to the miraculously beautiful outfit the other her is wearing. With the way she carries herself, the way she looks at her other self, and the way she yawns every now and then, the reason is apparent. She's too apathetic to chase the fleeting dream of looking that way. Despite being young, she has grown exhausted, mentally, and lacks the energy she may have had before in life.

The magical, magnificent her returns the gaze the lazy her sends. For a few moments, she simply trades the stare with herself.

Then, they speak. It's always the standing her that speaks first. The conversation is hard to read, at first, each statement followed by a pause or silence, as if it were a series of conversations that started but were briefly dropped. Yet, the silence between each statement seems to be more than enough to fill the gaps, the lack of sound speaking more than any words could ever hope of speaking. 

The conversation always seems to follow the same beats. She talks of being alone, alone for painfully long, to the point of loving it so. She talks of miracles that happen to her during ordinary, normal days. She talks of how those miracles are unneeded, just stupid compensation. For in the end, no matter how scared or sad she may be, or if she loses her hopes and dreams, there will still be a fragment of hopeful feelings left. Even though it's a silly, contradictory hope that makes little sense, she doesn't question it, deciding to pray by it regardless. But, only for a little while. In the end, she has little faith regardless. 

Sure, the words may be coming out of different mouths. The standing her will say words, to which the sitting her will respond. But in the end, it's all words that come from the same thoughts.

At the end, the two give an odd smile, seemingly having come to a mutual agreement. One could say the smile is pretty, like a stained glass window. 

And they talk, once more, but only for a short while. She talks of wanting to forget when she was happy, to give up on the notion of happiness. And the other her agrees, saying she wants to accept sadness.

A tear slides down the face of the seated her, and the standing her follows suit. And yet, a broken stained glass window is a window all the same.

\-----

In the waking world, the dreamer has the same expression on her face. In the moment, of course, she cannot tell, for she is still dreaming. But she always feels a bit of dampness on her face upon rousing from her sleep, seemingly sharing the same emotion as the her in the dream.

Of course she would feel that same sentiment. Both are the same person, after all. Despite outwardly cursing her solitude, deep down she is at peace with it, wanting to reject joy so misery can take its place. Even if she has hopes, they feel meaningless and contradictory with the rest of what she thinks. 

Because, the way Tomomo sees it...

_She'll always be alone. And that's her miraculous magic._


End file.
